


Slow Burn

by taranoire



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Developing Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:06:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taranoire/pseuds/taranoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just sex. They don't need to bring names into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Burn

This is his favorite part of their nightly arrangement: when Edward is shaking and rocking his hips desperately against nothing, when his hair is feathered over dark sheets and his every sound is breathless with desire, when the cold press of metal sends ripples of juxtaposed pleasure down Roy's spine.

The colonel used to treat sex as a higher art form, such as tea ceremony or flower arrangement or poetry—another way to impress his bed guests while simultaneously getting what he wanted out of them. But Edward has changed all of that, probably without even meaning to; his inexperience, his capricious demeanor, his overwhelming sense of confidence—these are all things which should detract from the experience, but Roy finds them invigorating.

When Roy wants to take things slow (use his weapons: his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his fingertips, or the hot, slow grind of his body over another) Edward gives him a look, as if to say "I know your game and I'm not a toy and you don't need to impress me," and then proceeds to shackle his wrists and hold him down and ride him until they're both trying not to scream.

When Roy wants to take things fast (office sex, for example, quick and dirty and against the wall on the desk in the lavatory from behind for easier access) Edward holds out on him, teases him, drops to his knees—refuses to let him come until there's someone beating at the door. ("Just a moment, lieutenant-! Fullmetal—")

Roy is over him, inside him tonight, and he is not disappointed (never). It always starts slow and steady and quiet, Fullmetal clenching his jaw and closing his eyes tight as if to press out all earthly sensations except for this. So silent, with the divine stillness of a stone carving. And as Roy goes deeper it becomes too much for him. He trembles and whimpers, sunlit eyes barely open, arms reaching for him, aching for him to come closer (yes, yes, please just fucking—)

Roy is at his command, really, which is terribly ironic considering that in a few hours' time it will be the other way around and this will never be mentioned. It'll just be a memory he relives during warm showers or dull daydreams, a burn that creeps under his skin that only another release can cool.

Sometimes, when Roy watches him from above, watches his face and his lips as they part in silent moans and half-sobs, he feels something more than the warm, pleasurable shiver that tears through his body and pools between his legs and pushes him to move harder faster more more more.

("You're insatiable."

"'Cause I'm younger than you."

"I'm well aware.")

He feels some form of affection, of attraction much more meaningful than that his body goes taut from the way Edward makes those sounds. When they get to this point, where even the hushed brush of skin on cloth sheets seems erotic and dirty, he has desperate urges to hold Edward close and whisper sweet words that he has uttered before but never meant.

Edward squirms, thrusting upwards, tight around him. Oil and heat. "Colonel…" He dips his head back, vulnerable only for a time, fleshy toes curling and uncurling while his metal foot remains disturbingly still.

Only in his most private thoughts does Roy call the blond by his name. "Fullmetal…" Though that doesn't stop his groaning response from sounding any less aroused or inappropriate for a superior-subordinate relationship. It's incredible how he can fuck Edward so hard the bed shifts but can't muster up the confidence to use his name.

Only in his thoughts.

He's getting close, and from the way Edward arches his back and sobs every foul word he knows, he's almost there as well. The blond tangles human fingers in his crop of dark hair, pushing him down with more gentleness than his daily attitude would ever imply, needing him nearer. Always nearer, as if he's afraid that the colonel will stop short and leave him.

That would be more sinful than initiating the act at all.

Edward's hips jerk suddenly, less fluid than before, and his breath hitches as he moves to take him deeper, shifting in the kind of pleasurable silence that only the final ebb can signify. He comes hard, teeth clamping down on his lower lip to muffle the moan that so wants to leave his tightening body.

Watching it happen, feeling him seize up, is what always does Roy in. He's lost his rhythm entirely, grinding tightly as if he's been reduced to baser instincts. When he reaches his orgasm he whimpers, squeezing the sheets tight with one of his fists to keep from crying out.

And then, watching his face flush a healthy shade of red, admiring the pattern his golden hair threads across dark fabric, Roy brushes a soft kiss against his lips. Without any warning, without any thought. It feels as natural as opening his eyes when the sun rises.

Edward is stunned. "You never kiss me."

"I do too."

"Not like that."

He has a point. Usually it's just another form of fucking; tongue penetration, biting, domination, resisting submission, combative races to see who can get who turned on faster. This one was different. Relaxed—chaste, really, as if they have all the time in the world instead of a few hours between midnight and dawn to exert all their sexual frustration.

Roy sighs. "Did it bother you?"

Edward shrugs and then shifts a little, allowing Roy to pull out and lay beside him instead. It's all so pretentious and domestic. If Hughes were alive, he might be laughing at the predicament. Find himself a wife indeed.

"It didn't bother me," Edward says thoughtfully. "I just…didn't expect it. You don't even use my name when we're alone, so why should I think that kissing me is a normal thing you do? I just—damn. You're confusing." He tries to roll over and get out of bed, but Roy carefully grabs at his wrist to hold him back.

"Do you want me to kiss you again?"

Edward looks coolly at the fingers curled around his arm, and then at Roy. "Would it matter?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"I—maybe…but this is just screwing around, right? Why try and make it seem like it means anything?" Edward asks with an expression Roy in all of his experience cannot tangle through or decipher. "Unless it's some weird kink for you, pretending we're…in love, or something…"

Roy reaches forward, letting go of his wrist and taking his face in his hand. "What if I wanted to again?"

"…Well, that'd be…different."

So he does. Feather-light, soft against soft, cradling Edward's face in both hands as if he's delicate when he's decisively not. Should he be doing this? Kissing Ed? Probably not, but there are a lot of things he shouldn't be doing with Ed, and before either of them realizes it ten minutes have passed and they're entwined and just…

This feels right.

Edward in his arms, eyelashes tickling his face, just kissing and touching and not saying a thing, only drawing back for a breath of air or a whimper. Roy opens his eyes, and finds Edward staring back, looking utterly exhausted but content.

He would never have asked this before. "Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

Ed says nothing, pressing close to his chest, and nods.


End file.
